


The Gravel Walk

by Virtus_Veritas



Category: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Persuasion - Jane Austen
Genre: Bath in Somerset, Brief references to Persuasion and Mansfield Park, Gen, Ghosts, Hauntings, duels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:22:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28465260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Virtus_Veritas/pseuds/Virtus_Veritas
Summary: Visiting Bath on a quest to visit Jane Austen's favorite places.  We ventured on a walk at twilight to see the haunted dueling field.
Kudos: 2





	The Gravel Walk

As I stepped from the doorway of an ornate three-story Georgian era house, I paused to view the scene before me. My hand resting on the painted ornate black metal fence, I breathlessly scanned the horizon, for before me lay a large green meadow-like lawn and in the distance stretched the city of Bath in Somersetshire. The famous yellow stone, of which most of the city is built, was slowly turning a pale melon pink in the light of the falling sunset. Behind me was the large expansion of the Royal Crescent – a series of 18th century homes that formed an elegant curve of Georgian terraced homes, all painted white, with majestic porticoes, eaves and columns. One could almost hear the echoes of the elegant carriages and horses that would have filled this elegant, curved street and see the town beaus on its sidewalks in their cloaks and top hats strolling down this graceful avenue.

Daylight was on the wane and I knew that I would be leaving this wonderful city soon, so I lingered on the view, wanting to keep this vision in my memory forever. James soon joined me and began to comment on what he had just seen on the third floor of this historic home museum we were visiting as part of our tour of Bath. But as his descriptions ended, he too, paused to view the scene. The whole town now seems to turn a pale pink lavender and fog began to be seen in the far meadows and dark corners of the expansive park. He turned to me with a questioning look, “Now are you ready for the walk you have been waiting for?” 

I smiled in return and gently replied, “yes, the Gravel Walk.”

Here in England, my travels were not undertaken merely to view architecture, sip tea and visit the theatre. I was set upon experiencing that most elusive thing that travelers often search for but rarely find, a step into history, into the very essence of life as it was experienced in the past. 

Being a reader of Jane Austen like myself, James knew if the stories of the Gravel Walk as referenced in her novels. This is where Captain Wentworth walked with Anne Elliott and exchanged assurances upon their engagement, where Catherine Morland walked with Henry Tilney, and where Miss Austen herself would stroll for repose and refreshment from the “harsh glare of Bath” on summer evenings. 

In addition to these reflections in literature, earlier in the day during a paid walking tour, both James and I were told of the apparitions that haunted the Gravel Walk; of the man in a black cloak and white formal wig, who would appear before strollers on the gravel path and slowly disappear, and of the Georgian era duelist who has been seen rushing across the walk on the way to a duel – only to vanish upon entering the glade – the infamous dueling glade. We also knew that in the early evenings and at dawn, one can sometimes hear a rush of footsteps midway down the gravel walk, soon to be followed by the sounds of the clashing of swords in the distance. 

Although James and I had no expectation of meeting or hearing these spirits, we both had our cameras in our hands, hoping to capture a view, a scene or something of the gravel walk to help preserve our memories of our trip to Bath. But as I look back at them, I realize that the photos never did the Gravel Walk justice, but the memory of this walk lives on in my senses, even today, almost ten years later.

The gravel walk began with a slow descent, drawing us southward into the park, with the back gardens of the Georgian homes to our left and the expansion of park on our right. As we stepped on the path, my first sensation was of surprise, as the dark gray gravel heavily crunched with every footstep. This made our walk a noisy one as the small loose pebbles were dry, despite the mid-afternoon rain that day. The air was cool, almost chilly, and carried by the light breeze the smell of grass and rich damp soil would waft across the park. The rain on the tree leaves still dripped occasionally and when the mild wind rose, the rain from the uppermost leaves would gently fall onto our coats and hair.

James and I spoke softly as we made our way down the path, admiring the homes and stopping occasionally to take photos of the growing fog that now stretched among the trees and floated above the damp ground. The rustling leaves, coupled with the sound of our own footsteps and the total absence of any thing “modern” in our view, allowed our imaginations to effortlessly transport us into another time. 

We paused before a cloven yew tree that marked the spot near a black gate where the ghost of a young man has been seen wearing a flowing white shirt, his hair tied in a black ribbon, rushing across the walk and down the steps that led onto a hidden glade – known to locals as the dueling glade—and silently disappearing amongst the holly bushes that border that infamous spot. 

James gave me a meaningful look, one of hope and curiosity – to which I replied willingly, “Yes, let us go to the dueling glade and see what we can see.” He quickly walked down the short steps on the right that led into the long and narrow meadow, pausing only to lend his hand as I carefully stepped down the damp, worn limestone steps. Despite the wet grass, he was quickly standing within a semi-circle of oak trees, one of which was very, very old. Here, he paused and with a telling smile said, “Here is where they would have stood during a duel.” I paused to take a photo of him standing before this oak, but as we both held our breath for the shot, we heard footsteps on the walk behind us, slowly approaching where we stood. We both turned, half dreading and half hoping to see the tragic duelist, who had never ceased over the centuries to ‘relive” his last steps toward an early death.

But as they emerged from the mists, it was soon evident that the steps were only of a threesome, bent on the same adventure as James and myself, to view the dueling field. Somewhat disappointed, I turned to James and with a resigned smile whispered, “Perhaps... next time.” 

Leaving the glade to the new arrivals, we continued on our walk down toward the town, pausing to take a photo or two. We eventually stopped to sit on a Victorian era bench – pleasantly exchanging stories we had read of duels and of the other haunted locations in Bath.

Eventually the damp and darkness made it necessary that we continue down the walk until we reached the bottom of the path. We both turned and looked back, and as I watched a white fog-like mist slowly float across the walk, I was very conscious of the fact that for a brief time, I had ventured into the past; breathed the same air as Jane Austen, felt the same cold as the tragic duelist must have felt and, most of all, experienced the sublime essence of what it is to truly travel into the past.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this several years ago, and just decided to publish now on AO3. I am a long time member of JASNA and have been to Bath several times. Hope you enjoy this. Comments are appreciated (as are kudos if you like this.) :-)


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